


healing word

by SydneyHorses



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Sylvix Week 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26615647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyHorses/pseuds/SydneyHorses
Summary: Felix is injured during the Battle of Gronder, and Mercedes is nowhere to be found. Help on the battlefield comes from an unexpected source, but Felix finds that he doesn't mind.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 9
Kudos: 81





	healing word

**Author's Note:**

> this is my day 3 fic for Sylvix Week! It's for the prompt injury/healing, and is some good old-fashioned hurt comfort. i had a lot of fun with this one - i hope you like it!

Every type of healing magic feels a little different. Annette’s has a bite to it, a harsh sort of sting that jolts Felix out of any injury-induced stupor any time. Mercedes’ feels like her advice: warm and kind, but unwilling to pull any punches. If he’s badly hurt during battle and needs to stay on his feet for just a while longer, it's Mercedes that Felix calls for.

Such is the case now, with blood hemorrhaging out of the gash in his side and his head pounding. The battle is far from over, but already he feels his resolve weakening. He isn’t going to last long. “Mercedes!” His voice can barely be heard above the din of battle, and he presses a palm to his side, trying to hold the blood in. It doesn’t do anything other than leave his head spinning and his hand slick with his own blood. “Mercedes, I need healing!”

The wave of faith magic, when it does come, is weaker than he’d expected. It’s barely enough to stitch together the wound in his side, but it still feels like a breath of fresh air. He takes a shaky breath, leaning on his sword for a moment. The respite is a mistake - his eyes flutter closed, and his breath makes a strange, rattling noise in his chest.

“Come _on,_ Felix.” A heavy hand clamps down on his shoulder, shaking it roughly.

Felix jerks his head up, his eyes blinking open. “I? What?”

Sylvain’s face looks down at him from astride his horse, his brow pinched together with worry. “Pay attention,” Sylvain snaps. “I don’t have a lot left but,” he yanks his glove off and presses his bare hand to Felix’s cheek, “here.”

Immediately warmth floods Felix’s body, nothing like what he’s used to. Sylvain’s healing magic, meager as it is, trickles through his body like a warm cup of soup on a cold day. It’s comforting and familiar, and he wants nothing more than to curl up in the warmth of it and take a nap.

It is, in short, not useful at keeping him on his feet and fighting during this clusterfuck of a battle.

He lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes fluttering closed. “When did you learn how to heal?”

“Fuck,” Sylvain says, which isn’t much of a response. Sylvain doesn’t move his hand, instead looks frantically around the battlefield. “Can you walk?”

Felix nods, his head spinning. He must have lost more blood than he thought, huh? He tries to say something to Sylvain, but only garbled nonsense makes its way out of his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Sylvain says again. “Hold on a second, sweetheart.”

He lets go of Felix’s shoulder and swings his leg over the side of his mare, dismounting onto the ground next to him. Felix lists towards him, pressing his hand to his side. He’s not bleeding any more, but his hands are still slick with it. His clothing around the injury is heavy with blood, dragging him down to the ground and holding him under.

He thinks he might understand what Dimitri means when he talks about ghosts. There’s certainly something in the air around him, dragging him down to the ground and suffocating him.

Sylvain’s hand on his arm is an anchor, one that tethers him to the way of the living. “Come on.” He takes Felix’s hands, looping them around his neck. “Arms here, alright?”

“Okay,” Felix slurs, his eyes drifting shut as he slumps into Sylvain further. Next to them, Sylvain’s horse paws at the ground.

“I’ve got you,” Sylvain whispers. “Come on baby, stay with me.”

Felix swallows. “I’m not your baby.”

“Of course not.” The relief in Sylvain’s voice is so thick that Felix could very well drown in it. “Of course not.” He slides an arm around Felix’s waist, and then pulls him in tight against his side. “I’m gonna pick you up, alright? On three?”

“I can walk,” Felix protests, even as he sways in Sylvain’s arms.

“I know,” Sylvain says. “It’ll make me feel better.” A pause, and then a small nod from Felix. Sylvain looks worried, and his head is swimming. If all it takes to mollify Sylvain is to sit on a horse for a bit, Felix thinks he can manage that. 

“Okay.” Sylvain counts to three, then hefts Felix up. Felix tries to help and not sit in his arms like deadweight, but as soon as his feet leaves the ground he remembers just how tired he is. The grass where he stood is stained with blood, so dark that it may as well have been painted on.

Moments later and he’s deposited on Sylvain’s mare like a sack of bricks, slumped backwards against Sylvain’s chest. The armor against his back is firm and unyielding, and as they ride through the battle Felix feels himself losing track of time. Sylvain hurls spells with a vigor Felix has never seen from him before, and it seems to him that he spends a lifetime there, held steady by the warm constraints of Sylvain’s arms.

When he comes to, it’s only as he’s being pulled off the horse.

Cool hands cup his cheeks, and a pair of lips brush his forehead. “I’m all out of juice. C’mon kitten. You still with me?”

Felix’s eyes are bleary and unfocused, but he gazes up at Sylvain nonetheless.

The man lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank the Goddess. Okay. We’re back at camp. Can you walk?”

Felix had forgotten he had legs. He lists into Sylvain’s chest, his eyes sliding shut of their own accord. He can walk, just as soon as he gets a little bit of sleep.

“Right.” Sylvain stoops down, scooping Felix up with one hand under his knees and one hand around his shoulders. Felix’s head lolls back, sleep slowly overtaking him. He can walk. He doesn’t need anyone to carry him. He wants to tell Sylvain just that, but it’s rapidly becoming harder to think about much of anything at all.

The next thing Felix remembers, he’s waking up. The sun streams in through a narrow gap, hitting across his face and rousing him from his deep, dreamless slumber. There’s noise all around him, as though something exciting is happening. He opens his eyes, blinking in the mid-morning light. “Glenn?” His voice is cracked and ragged, a thing so sharp that he fears it will cut even him.

“Just me.” The voice comes from his right, and Felix snaps back into his body. The reality of his brother’s long ago death hits him all over again, the dull pain cascading over in one smooth wave. 

“Sylvain?” Sylvain looks like he hasn’t slept in years. There’s a cut on his cheek and blood smeared on his brow, and his eyes are bloodshot and empty. “What are you doing here?”

Sylvain lets out a single, hollow note of laughter. “Making sure you aren’t dead. Mercedes said if it’d been another five minutes, you would have been a goner.”

Felix sits up to argue, only to succumb to the rattling cough knocking on the inside of his lungs. Sylvain jumps to his feet as soon as he starts coughing, his hands already glowing a pale blue. 

A wave of warmth and comfort washes through Felix, and he looks up at Sylvain through narrowed eyes. “It was you on the battlefield. The magic.”

Sylvain strokes a hand through his hair. “Of course. I was closest.”

The hand in his hair feels nice. Felix lets out a soft hum and leans into Sylvain’s hand like a cat. “When did you learn how to heal?”

“Ages ago,” Sylvain whispers. “I guess I’ve just never healed you before.”

Felix is tired enough that he lets out a heavy, contented sigh and lets his eyes slip back closed. “It felt nice,” he whispers. “I like it better than when Mercedes heals me.”

A long moment of silence. The hand in his hair doesn’t stop stroking through inky black locks. “Okay,” Sylvain replies. “I’ll remember that.”

Sleep, when it takes him, is quiet and peaceful, and almost as calming as Sylvain’s touch.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @edelgardlesbian !!


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